


Missing You is So Last Season

by inkheart9459, roseyruewritessometimes22



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Mirandy Week, day 7 hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkheart9459/pseuds/inkheart9459, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseyruewritessometimes22/pseuds/roseyruewritessometimes22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fashion Week is upon Miranda and Andy. The only problem is fashion week is a bit of a misnomer. Between New York, London, Milan, and Paris Fashion Week, it's more like Fashion Month. So much time apart is driving Andy and Miranda insane as they try to live through every week, text message to text message and call to call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing You is So Last Season

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Crazybecat for being my beta for the entire week. You rock. Also Thanks to Roseyruewritessometimes22 to agreeing to my rather spur of the moment plan to write this piece together. I've dragged her into the world of writing Mirandy fic and I can't say I'm sorry.

New York Fashion Week:

 

Miranda leaned her head back against the head rest and sighed. She was so very tired, four days of shows, going nonstop from sun rise to sunset. She loved fashion, but the months where fashion weeks fell were hard. Harder still now that she had Andrea waiting at home for her. There was no one she had ever wanted to just stay home and be with before Andrea, and balancing that impulse with her duties to Runway proved difficult at best in regular circumstances. During fashion week both fall and spring, it was almost impossible.

She looked down at her watch. It was after midnight now. By the time she got home it would be twelve thirty at the earliest. The Book would be waiting for her, though with a skeleton staff not attending the fashion week events there wouldn’t be a great deal to look over and if luck had it there wouldn’t be  many corrections to be made. There was something to be said about doing most of the work on an issue before fashion week began. When the print deadline passed in the middle of Milan fashion week she was going to be hurting, but that wasn’t here quite yet. She would enjoy the little time she had free and think of it later.

Miranda frowned. By the time she got home Andrea would be asleep, and if she wasn’t then she would be by the time she got done with the Book. There had been few text messages between them today. She needed more contact than that but knew there wouldn’t be any chance really. At least this week she could manage to slide into bed beside Andrea and hold her as she slept for a few scant hours.

She rubbed her temples and sighed. She would rule Runway until either her dying day or whenever she grew tired of the venture. Miranda thought that at this rate the latter would come much sooner. She loved what she did, loved the ever changing pace, loved dictating what the fashion world wore, loved the power, but there were other things now that she loved just as much, if not more. The twins were growing up so quickly before her eyes. Thirteen going on thirty it seemed most days. And Andrea, she really didn’t want to miss a moment with the other woman. They were too precious. It was almost a burning longing, a deep seated hunger that she wanted to remain close at all times. That wouldn’t actually suit them, she knew, they were two independent women after all, but that didn’t change what she felt.

Roy pulled up outside the town house. Miranda managed to pick her head up off the seat and scoot forward. All she wanted was sleep and Andrea, but she exited the car as Roy pulled the door open for her, unlocked her front door, and walked into her home. She was greeted by silence and darkness. She paused to listen very carefully and did not hear a sound, not even the gentle clicking of laptop keys. And in silence this deep Miranda knew that she would be able to hear the slightest noise even four floors up. Her exceptional hearing had been a blessing in corporate America, maybe a bit of a curse elsewhere. She had heard so many things she wished she hadn’t.

She sighed, locked the door behind her and walked towards the table in the foyer. She picked up the Book and quietly made her way into her study, clicking on the light. She grabbed her faithful pad of post-it notes and her fountain pen, slipped off her heels, almost groaning at how good it was to have them off, and curled up in her favorite chair with the Book on her lap. She looked through it quickly to see what had changed from the day before, noted it, and then went back with lethal comments threatening her staff if they didn’t correct the errors she saw. She was not in the mood for anything other than comments that cut to the bone. Her employees would deal as they always had.

An hour later she uncurled from the chair, done with her work. If she went to sleep right then she would get maybe five hours of sleep. She rubbed a tired hand over her face, carried the Book up their room and set to her nightly ablutions. Makeup washed off, clad in pjs of the softest silk, she actually allowed herself to stand in the doorway of the bathroom with the soft light bathing the room in front of her, and gazed at Andrea’s sleeping form. Andrea was turned toward her, face even younger in sleep. All the stress that had been balled up in her spine throughout the day dissipated. Her Andrea.

She flipped off the light and walked forward, slipping into bed. She pressed a gentle kiss to the woman’s lips and settled down into a comfortable position and was just about to reach for Andrea to pull her closer when the other woman was suddenly already wrapped around her.

“Mmm, Miranda,” she mumbled, not actually awake. She snuggled into her lover and went right back into a deep sleep.

Miranda placed a kiss on Andrea’s hair, wrapped her arms around the girl, and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

New York Fashion Week: Andy

 

It was getting late; the girls were finally put to bed. Andy wearily plopped down to sit on her side of the bed she and Miranda shared. Her arms crisscrossed over her chest as she rubbed her shoulders, though that did little to relieve her tension. Miranda would have turned the knots in her back to pudding with just a few minutes of massaging. But, for the fourth day in a row, Andy hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her love.

 Things had been hectic at the Mirror—it turned out some local pizza place had been laundering money for a prostitution ring. Thankfully, it wasn’t one Andy had ever visited, nor taken the girls to as a “Don’t tell your Mother” treat. There was also a huge to-do about some Yankee’s baseball player who just confessed to using “performance enhancing drugs”—God, if Andy had to tell their sports reporter one more time that enhancing was not spelled “inhandsing”, she might be their next biggest story: “Mirror Journalist Snapped! Illiterate Co-Worker Found Dead”.

And then, of course, the Mirror was running mad with the New York Fashion Week. More like Fashion Month, in the Priestly household. This was looking to be the fourth night this week that Miranda had been unable to make it home until long after Andy and the twins were sound asleep. Tonight, the twins decided that they should be allowed to stay up until Miranda got home. Cassidy had given a rather inspired plea for their case—full of compliments to Andy, everything from her looks, to her accomplishments in her career, to just how happy she makes their mom. Caroline even chimed in with, “We’re old enough to not have a bedtime, Andy.”

To which Cassidy had petulantly added, “None of our friends have bedtimes!”

It had taken almost a solid hour to cajole them into going to bed. They weren’t consoled until after Andy promised that after their mother’s work with Fashion Week was over they would get to spend all the time they wanted to with their mother. Andy even swore that she would be doing her best to convince Miranda to take some time off of work afterwards and take them on a family vacation to where ever the girls desired. Within reason. Caroline’s smarmy, “What if we want to go to the moon?” wasn’t exactly doable, but neither was it sincere. So.

And of course, she also promised that if they went to bed now, tomorrow Andy would pick them up for their lunch hour at school and take them some place nice. She’d make reservations at that place that served those cupcakes the twins liked so much, but that could wait until morning.

Now, Andy sat alone, legs dangling over the side of the bed. Waiting. It was going on midnight; it was later than Andy was used to going to bed, but she’d been hoping that perhaps she might get to actually _see_ Miranda tonight—not just feel the phantom kiss the older woman gave Andy when she did finally come to bed for the evening. But Miranda wouldn’t be home for a while now. And of course, there was the Book, so even once Miranda got home, she’d have that to look over, and it wouldn’t be fair for Andy to demand even five minutes of Miranda’s time. The older woman was running on little sleep as it was, and she would be getting just as little sleep tonight, since the Book would keep her up for God knew how long, only to be awake, dressed, and gone before Andy and the girls woke up for the day.

Andy took her hands off of her shoulders and ran them down her arms to hold tightly to her elbows, hugging herself as she sniffled a bit. It was all frustrating. She wasn’t frustrated with Miranda, of course, but at the situation. Miranda would be leaving the country for half a month for Fashion Week events around the world, and this week being New York Fashion Week had made her presence scarce at home. Andy, personally, had not truly seen Miranda since they had a family dinner the Sunday evening before Fashion Week began—Miranda had bid Andy and the girls goodnight long before bedtime, as she had much to do in preparation for the week ahead, and thus nightly the ritual of Miranda crawling into bed long after Andy was asleep, gently pressing a kiss to her love’s lips, and then being gone before Andy could wake to say goodbye had started.

Andy wanted to stay up, she wanted to be selfish and just see Miranda for even a minute. But she couldn’t be, and that…that just sucked, royally.

So, with dwindling hope that she might actually get to see Miranda sometime this week before she left, Andy rose to her feet, and pulled back the covers on her half of the bed. She crawled in slowly and sat up for a few minutes, hoping that Miranda might come in, even for a moment to say goodnight, but she knew the woman wasn’t even home yet.

So Andy turned off the bedside lamp, burrowed deeply underneath the covers, and fell asleep with lingering thoughts of Miranda.

 

London Fashion Week:

Miranda was only glad for the five time zone difference between her and Andrea because it meant that no matter how late she got in she got to speak to Andrea. The six hour differences between Milan and Paris would ensure that as well but Miranda wasn’t so sure she’d still be thankful after more than four days away from Andrea. Still, in this case, she would take what she could get and not push for more.

She walked into her suite and immediately kicked off her shoes, leaving them where they landed. Almost always she was more careful with her things, couture was sacred after all, but this wasn’t one of those times. It was two in the morning, she had to be up at six to go over the Book before she was off in the whirlwind of shows She didn’t want to spend time on frivolous things.

Her purse landed on a table for a second while she rooted through it to find her cell phone. Before she even thought about it, the phone was in her hand and she was dialing Andrea. She held it up to her ear and listened to the grainy sound of an international call being put through.

Two rings later Andrea answered. “Miranda, hi.” She sounded breathless and there was a definitely smile in her voice.

“Good evening, darling.” Miranda closed her eyes and sighed. Finally, her Andrea.

“How were the shows today? See anything ground breaking?”

The truth was she’d barely been able to concentrate on the shows. Her mind had kept wandering back to Andrea as models walked past. Nothing was holding attention like it had before. Though that had started long before Andrea had showed up, she had spent a great deal of time in the industry and little surprised her. However, after Andrea it was even worse. She thought it would take something of almost world changing proportions to actually catch her attention now when before something mildly surprising would have pleased her.

“Gods no, I believe this year might just be a rather large waste of time. And yet, I’m still here. I suppose I should just live on hope that something will change.”

Andrea laughed. “Well, no matter how disappointing, I hope you find enough to work with for the September issue.”

Miranda hoped that too. Not having enough material for that issue would be catastrophic at best. “Yes, well, let us hope that some of the contingent who went to other shows had better luck than I.” She sighed. “How was your day, darling?”

“Eh.” She could practically hear the shrug in the words. “Same old, same old, really. Got up, went to work, got assigned an article to outline the president’s plan to pull the troops out of Iraq for the casual reader. Which should actually be interesting really, I’m excited to start researching. Then there were a couple other fluff pieces that won’t take long, a piece about a therapy dog at Children’s and one about a festival this weekend. I think I’ll take the twins with me, I think they’ll like it. There will be a bunch of different types of cuisine from different Latin countries and music and dancing and the like.”

Miranda smiled at the thought of her girls out for a day together. Andrea was really quite excellent with her girls. It had melted her heart on more than one occasion. “That sounds wonderful, I’m sure they’ll love it.” She chuckled. “Cassidy would be on board just for the food aspect.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She laughed quietly.

They lapsed into silence, just listening to the other breathing for a long few minutes. Miranda managed to strip out of her clothes and remove her makeup while keeping the phone pinned to her face. She didn’t want to miss a moment of even just silently coexisting with Andrea.

“I miss you already,” Andrea said after a few minutes.

Miranda slipped into her night ware and climbed into bed. “I miss you too, Andrea.” She sighed out the other woman’s name like a prayer, and maybe it was, as another wave of longing washed over her. She felt like she was starving and the only thing that would save her was Andrea. “I love you.” She leaned her head back against the head board. Her eyes were so heavy. She was not looking forward to the next morning’s wake up call.

“I love you too.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. “You should go to sleep. It has to be crazy late there.”

“Oh, it is, but I find that calling you is much more important than sleep.”

“The people who call you Ice Queen have no idea how mushy you can be,” Andrea teased. “But seriously, Miranda, I know you aren’t getting enough sleep and haven’t for the last week and half. Get what rest you can. I don’t want you getting sick or any more stressed than you have to be.”

Miranda smiled at that. How she ended up with someone so caring she didn’t know. “Fine, I’ll lie down, but stay on the line with me until I’m asleep?”

“That’s a fair compromise.”

“I thought so.” Miranda settled down in bed and groaned. It felt obscene to lay down after the day she had and even though the bed wasn’t her own, she didn’t think that would matter tonight. “Goodnight, darling.”

“Night, Miranda. Sweet dreams.”

Miranda smiled and fell asleep clutching her phone a moment later.

 

London Fashion Week: Andy

 

A week later Andy was sitting in her car, waiting for Cassidy and Caroline to finish saying goodbye to their friend. Some girl that a week prior had been a sworn enemy, this week was a friend week though, and the twins had animatedly begged Andy for permission to go to this girl’s house to “hang out. Play dates are for babies, Andy, we’re 13”.

It was a good thing Miranda had such an excellent cell-phone plan for her trips abroad. While communication was a bit scant due to the five hour time difference between New York and London and Miranda’s busy schedule, Andy had been able to get the “OK” for the girls to go on their playdate—sorry, hang out with their frenemy.

Though that had been the extent of their texting yesterday, Andy disparaged as she looked over their text messages.

7:31AM: **Girls want to “hang out” with Cindy S. after school tomorrow.**

7:40AM: _Details?_

7:42AM: **Cindy’s mom will pick them all up from school—you’ve met her before. Knock-off Jimmy Choos @ parent-teacher night. I’ll pick them up from Cindy’s after work—5:30, and take them for dinner, or dessert if they’ve already eaten.**

7:59AM: _OK_

8:00AM: **I love you**

9:45 PM: _< 3 _

There were no new messages yet today. Andy planned to text Miranda once she had the girls. She looked up and saw the girls still chattering away with Cindy and her mother on the front stoop of their home, and decided to let them go on. The girls hadn’t wanted to do much outside of home since Miranda had left—they were around Andy as much as possible so they wouldn’t miss a chance at talking to their mother whenever Miranda had the time to call, and occasionally when Miranda couldn’t call but had time to text, Andy would hand off her phone to the girls for a while. Their previous phone conversation from the day before was still strong in Andy’s mind, though she felt like it had taken place a lifetime ago. Miranda could be quite the hopeless romantic when the mood struck her.

She backed out of her messages and checked her Facebook. Miranda thought Andy having a Facebook was amusing, but everyone at the Mirror had one, it was just another way to stay in touch, as well as another source for leads. It was also nice because Andy could see how things were going back in Cincinnati. And if she happened to come across an elitist bitch or two from High School who had gotten fat, or ended up working fast-food for their career, that was just an added bonus, though she kept those little smug victories to herself.

Her mom had just gotten herself a Facebook recently. That had amused Miranda more than anything—the first thing Andy’s mother did was upload the pictures she’d scanned, most of them Andy’s baby pictures. That had been…embarrassing to say the least, Miranda had positively roared with laughter when she saw those pictures, all of which had been accompanied by the description, in which Andy’s mother wrote “LOL”, which her mom was sure meant “Lots of Love” not matter how many times Andy assured her, it didn’t. Not to mention her mother often posted statuses that she’d meant to be private messages to Andy. Thankfully Andy had talked her mother into giving Andy her Facebook log-in information, so when something too catastrophic was posted, Andy could delete it.

She didn’t have to scroll through her NewsFeed very far before she saw one of her mother’s more recent statuses

Dorothy Sachs: ANDY MIRANDA LOOKS GREAT AT LONDON FASHION WEEK. TELL HER YOUR FATHER AND I SAY HELLO. LOL.

“Jesus,” Andy muttered before hitting Safari and looking up Miranda Priestly London Fashion Week.

The very first thing that popped up was Google Images, right at the very top was Miranda, sitting off to the side of the runway, to most the look on her face would appear to be neutral, but to Andy, her disapproval was obvious as she watched a particularly atrocious outfit be strutted down the catwalk.

She looked beautiful. So in her element, like she was where she was supposed to be, though the thought felt like it burned Andy’s mind. Miranda was supposed to be at Fashion Week. With the work she did, she more than deserved it. But what Andy wanted, more than anything, was for Miranda to be _home._ With her. She craved that more than she had anything in her life. She wanted to see, hear, smell, touch, _taste_ Miranda with a hunger that grew with each passing day. And here she sat, almost 3500 miles away, despairingly scrolling through pictures that taunted her with what she could not have.

Andy scrolled down and clicked on one of the first articles, and immediately wished she was a reporter for the London Evening Standard’s fashion beat. There were multiple pictures of Miranda at different Fashion Week events, entering different showcases, one was her leaving a restaurant down the street from her Hotel, and there was a particularly breathtaking one of her speaking with a few designers at the Designer’s party that had apparently taken place last night.

Andy’s mouth went dry, and she swallowed multiple times in quick succession as she zoomed in on the photograph.

Miranda had prepared her outfits for all of the Fashion Weeks the week before New York’s. She’d tried a few on for Andy to examine…this particular gown Miranda wore to the Designer’s party, was rather a memorable one.

The floor-length gown was made of a shimmery, midnight-blue material that looked like stars and felt like silk between Andy’s fingers. The draped neckline came just four finger-widths beneath Miranda’s collarbone, showing off the glorious curve of her neck. But the _back_. God, the back of this dress was a plunging V that stopped just a few inches above her tailbone, and the photographer, God bless that photographer because Jesus damn, they’d caught the perfect angle—showing what Miranda dictated as her “Good Side”, and how the dress emphasized the perfect curve of her lower back that sloped to meet the lines of her amazing ass.

That dress. Andy would do many an inappropriate thing with Miranda in that dress.

The second door on the driver’s side of her car was flung open and as the twins clambered into their seats. Andy’s face went bright red and she dropped her phone immediately, afraid the girls would see the picture and would somehow know the exact nature of her thoughts.

Of course, if the girls had the vocabulary to do so…perhaps Andy and Miranda should be more strict with what they watch on the television.

“Whatcha doin’?” Cassidy asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on Andy’s seat, her head beside the headrest.

“Nothing!” Andy insisted, trying to brush it off, “I’m just, you know, chilling. Waiting for you girls. How was your play—hanging out with Cindy?”

“It was dumb,” Caroline said, putting her seatbelt on.

“Yeah, we hate Cindy,” said Cassidy, plopping into her seat and copied her twin’s action.

“We only hung out because she was bragging about her new flat screen TV,” Caroline said in explanation.

While it was perfectly normal behavior for the girls to go over to someone’s home even though they dislike them, their reasoning this time gave her pause. “Um…we have a flat screen at home. In the living room?”

 “Yeah, duh Andy, we know that.” Cassidy rolled her eyes.

“We just wanted to make sure that hers wasn’t better than ours,” Caroline explained.

“It isn’t.”

“We have to be able to defend our sleep-over dibs.”

“Yeah. We have to make sure our classmates don’t want to start having sleepovers at Cindy’s place.”

“Now when she invites people over, we can tell them she has a crappy TV.”

“No wonder.” Cassidy scoffed. “Her mom wears knock off Jimmy Choos.”

“And tries to play them off like the real deal,” Cassidy added.

“Pathetic.”

“Can we have ice cream?”

“Yeah, please?”

Andy smiled at them through the rear-view mirror. “Sure. Let’s go get ice cream, and I’ll see if your mom is available to talk later.”

“Yeah!” both girls enthused, “Have you heard from her?”

“Not yet today, but I’ll text her now to let her know you survived your dumb playdate.”

“Hang out,” the girls insisted.

Andy reached between her feet for her cell phone, and with a lingering look to the photograph from the Designer’s Party, she backed out of Safari and opened her Messages with Miranda.

**Just picked up the girl’s from Cindy’s. They had fun. Let me know if you can call later. Have a great day, knock ‘em dead! Love you**

She pressed send, and then decided to send just one more message.

**I hope that dress you wore to the London Designer’s Party isn’t a rental. I’d like to see it again, in person, and I can promise you it will not be returned in the most pristine condition.**

She watched her phone for a moment but there was no immediate reply, so she tucked her cell away and headed for the girl’s favorite ice cream parlor.

It was only when they arrived back home later that evening that Andy received a reply.

_Andrea. You must know how very problematic it is for me to reply to a text about my children, and to your…rather erotic sentiments at the same time. I am glad the girls had fun. I am also rather pressed for time this evening so I cannot text for long, but I will try my best to call tomorrow, text me when you are back from the festival. I will endeavor to, as you say “knock ‘em dead”._

And then, a moment later.

_The dress is not a rental, why ever would it be? But I intend to hold you to your word, Andrea._

**You’d better. I’ll text you tomorrow then, I love you.**

_And I, you._

 

Milan Fashion Week:

Miranda’s eyes blinked open at a luxurious eight a.m. She thanked god that Italians were so much more lax about time than the rest of the world was. She had needed the extra sleep for sure after seven days of ridiculousness in New York and five in London and another two here in Milan. She pushed herself out of bed with a grunt.

She still had an hour before she really had to start getting ready. There was no Book to check over today, the issue having gone to print the day before. Now it was brain storming day and the people left at Runway would send her the ideas by day’s end for approval. The next day the process of checking everything over would start over again, but for now she had time to relax. She cursed that it was too early to call Andrea. She could use a long conversation with her, but at two in the morning Andrea would be sound asleep.

Miranda settled instead for digging around in her things and pulling her laptop out. She booted it up and smiled at the picture of Andrea and the twins that was set as her background. They were covered in flour and so was her kitchen, but the smiles on their faces had been worth it. So had the subsequent flour fight that she had lost horribly. They were still finding bits of white in nooks and crannies and that had been months ago. Every time that happened Miranda chuckled quietly to herself and wiped it up, remembering the fight fondly.

She clicked on her browser and brought up her home page. She had changed it ages ago from Runway’s pathetic little side venture of a website to The Mirror’s website. She scrolled for a second on the front page and found Andrea’s article on the President’s plan to withdrawal the troops about midway down. She scanned over the words, not really taking in the information so much as imagining Andrea sitting in their shared study to write the piece. She wrote the fluff pieces at work and did most of her research there, but the important pieces, the ones she was truly excited about, got written at home when there wasn’t the distraction of the bullpen around her. She could practically see Andrea’s adorable concentrated scowl as she thought of just the right word to describe what was happening, that little moue her mouth made when she was editing.

Miranda glanced away from the article. The amount that she missed Andrea in that moment was almost overwhelming. Her body needed the other woman like it needed food, craved her like chocolate, drank her down like fine wine. To be deprived of that was painful in so many, many ways.

She clicked another of Andrea’s articles when she reached the end of the new one. Reading the words she wrote, remembering the other woman and what they were doing while she was writing the articles in front of her, it soothed her just a bit. She would take what comfort she could get four thousand miles away.

Her heart stopped at the picture a Mirror photographer had taken of the girls and Andrea dancing at one of the concerts Andrea had covered for her fluff pieces. She had approached Miranda hesitantly about the use of the picture. The girls had been fine with it; after all, it had been a flattering picture of them. Andrea, however, had not known how Miranda would react to the question of having the photo published since she was so adamant about the press not going anywhere near her girls. It was only because it was a beautiful photo of her girls that she allowed it to be printed. Miranda had no doubt it was the best picture the photographer had taken that day. It showcased the concert perfectly in bright, vibrant color and looked as if it was about to move, it was so full of life.

Miranda had subsequently reminded every single publisher in the City that her girls were off limits and one photograph did not change that. The only reason it had been allowed was because her significant other was the one who asked. A few tried after that, Miranda had cut them down, and now people understood that Andrea Sachs was the only one who could publish about the girls in any shape or form, which was how Miranda preferred it.

She missed them all. She wondered how the twins were doing. She knew they always missed her when she was gone for the three weeks of fashion weeks. She missed them too, of course, even before Andrea, but it seemed more intense in light of her relationship with the other woman. Perhaps because she pulled them together as a family in ways that no one else had. They were closer now than ever before. And so now the old excuses of ‘she had to for work’ didn’t cut it anymore.

An hour passed in the blink of an eye and hundreds of her lover’s words. She quietly shut the lid of her laptop. She didn’t want to, but she had to get ready for the day. At least she was secure in the knowledge that when she got through this day she was one closer to seeing her girls again.

 

Milan Fashion Week: Andy

 

London Fashion Week had been…rough, but fine in terms of missing Miranda, for Andy, and the girls. They’d had lots to keep them busy, with the girl’s playdates and Andy’s fluff pieces giving them all sorts of fun activities to get into. The festival had been such a fun experience with the girls—Cassidy and Caroline had rushed around from booth to booth, dragging Andy along as fast as they could, trying out the best cuisine the festival had to offer. That, of course, had turned into a competition of who could handle the spiciest food. While Caroline was more a fan of spicy food, Cassidy’s stubbornness won out and she toughed through food that Andy was worried would burn a hole in the girl’s mouth. The music and dancing had been a blast.

This week, however, was less eventful, and marked the second week Miranda had been gone from the States. She was in Milan now, and the time difference was a bit greater than London’s.

When Andy got home after work, at 5:30, like clockwork, she came home to silence. The girls weren’t bickering, nor were they being terrors for Cara, when Andy entered the kitchen, Cara was quietly preparing dinner, and the girls were sitting at the counter doing their homework in silence.

“Hey guys,” Andy greeted them, coming up behind them to press a kiss to each of their heads as she placed a hand on their shoulders and rubbed them. “Did you have a good day at school?”

Cassidy nodded, while Caroline made a noncommittal noise.

Andy looked to Cara and mouthed, “Are they sick?”

Cara shook her head and shrugged as she finished plating their food and began taking them to the dinner table.

“Thank you for everything, Cara, I can take it from here,” Andy said as she pulled away from the girls and hoisted her work bag onto her shoulder.

“Not a problem, Andy, have a great evening ladies,” Cara said, smiling to Andy and the girls before she disappeared to gather her things and leave for the evening.

“Wow, dinner smells great, doesn’t it girls?” Andy asked awkwardly, trying to make conversation.

The girls shrugged. Andy dropped her work bag off once more and went around the counter to stand in front of the girls.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Did something happen at school?” If some bully or trifling teacher had done something to the twins, Andy _would_ track down their number, and place an unpleasant phone call to them or their parents’ phone in the dead of night. And if it wasn’t righted then and there, she would be making herself a thorn in whoever’s side at the school tomorrow. Andy Sachs did not mess around, not when it came to the kids.

And she knew Miranda would follow up with this when she returned home. There would be hell to pay.

“Have you heard from mom?” Caroline asked.

“We’ve texted today, things are going well in Milan. She’s having a nice time…she misses you. Very, very much.”

The girls nodded.

“Andy,” Cassidy spoke up, “When’s mommy coming home?”

Oh God, she said _mommy_. Oh Jesus in a jumpsuit, Cassidy’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and Andy could feel the sting of her own welling with the salty moisture, a lump rising in her throat, and her desire for Miranda to walk through the front door increased exponentially.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not going to be much longer now, I promise,” she said, laying her arms across the counter to take Cassidy’s hand into her own, rubbing the back of it with her thumb, she then reached with the other to take up one of Caroline’s and give it a squeeze. “Your mother will be home in less than nine days, okay? Milan will be over tomorrow, and then she just has the week of Paris, and then she’ll be home.”

But a week sounded like a century, felt like infinity, and tasted of eternity.

“We know,” Caroline spoke up quietly, “We just miss her.”

“We miss her a whole lot,” Cassidy added, a few tears spilling over and onto her cheeks.

“Whoa now,” Andy said, letting go of Cassidy’s hand to wipe the tears off of her cheeks, “Don’t go making me cry—your mother turned me on to this mascara I’m wearing, it’s La Christ-on Door, and it’s expensive.”

Cassidy sniffled while Caroline snorted and the twins laughed at her mispronunciation.

“It’s Le Christian Dior,” they corrected.

Andy grinned, put her hands on her hips and wrinkled her nose, shaking her head at them. “That’s what I said,” she spoke in a put-on smarmy tone.

“I’m going to go put my stuff away and clean up a bit, okay girls?” Andy said once the girls had stopped giggling and they continued to smile.

“Okay,” the girls said, hopping down from the counter, they went to one of the downstairs bathrooms to wash their faces and hands while Andy collected her work bag and jaunted up the stairs.

She closed the bedroom door, sat down on the half-empty bed, and took in a shaky breath.          

 

Paris Fashion Week:

Miranda braced for it every year. Place de la Concorde was unavoidable, really, at least in the parts of the city that the shows were in. All she could ever see was Andrea walking away from her three years ago. The disappointment that had punched her in the gut when she had turned to find that Andrea was not behind her had almost crippled her. The despair in the days afterward had been worse. She had known the girl had meant more to her than any other assistant she had ever had, but she wasn’t quite aware of how much until that moment.

Her hands itched to dig into her purse and call Andrea. She needed to know that everything in the last three years since then had happened, that the woman was sitting at home, or at work and would be coming back to the townhouse later, would be having silly flour fights with the twins and lighting up their lives. But she didn’t reach for the phone. She trusted Andrea. Andrea would be at home like she had been every day since she moved in a year ago. She just had to make herself trust her perception of reality and hope it all hadn’t been a dream.

But no, it hadn’t been a dream. Her mind was one for practicality and not one for idle dreams that weren’t about innovative fashion designs. She couldn’t come up with something like this on its own. Invariably if she had come up with this scenario it would’ve ended in flames by now. Not that it hadn’t had its bumps, their coming out had been a particularly rough period, but they were still together and perhaps stronger for it.

She looked out the window again as Place de la Concorde faded into the distance and she breathed again. As much as she trusted Andrea and what they had built, that didn’t mean that she had to like being reminded that it had almost all blown up in her face. They would pass the place again later switching shows again. And again. She didn’t care to think about how many times really. And every single time she would have the same reaction. She wondered if the reaction would ever fade with time. Knowing her mind and it’s capability to remember things in crystal clear detail she doubted it.

Her phone buzzed in her purse.  Miranda reached down and smiled at the notification on her screen. A text message from Andrea. Whatever tension she’d been holding in her after passing Place de la Concorde bled away.

**Good morning, beautiful. Well, afternoon, but the sentiment remains.**

It was just after noon in Paris. Andrea had just woken up a few minutes ago and the first thing that she had done was text Miranda. Her heart swelled with love. God, the woman was a perfect as anyone could be.

_Good morning, darling. Have a nice day at work._

She put her phone back into her purse as the car slowed down in front of their next destination. She huffed out a breath at the amount of paparazzi on the steps leading up to the venue. She really hated this part of fashion week. But still, no matter the crowd, it didn’t dim the little spark of good mood that Andrea’s text message had engendered.

She would be home in three days. The absolute need to see Andrea was growing stronger and stronger by the day, but she would be home soon. And then she would be home to Andrea who sent her good morning text messages minutes after she’d woken for the day, who made her breakfast every weekend without fail, who put up with her long hours better than any of her husbands ever had. She would get to take the woman into her arms and finally satiate the need she had for the other woman. Her mouth watered at the thought of kissing the other woman senseless as soon as she walked through the door.

The smile she gave the paparazzi as she stepped out of the car wasn’t as fake as normal, a little bit of warmth from her feelings about Andrea infused into the expression. Yes, she loved an absolute marvel of a woman, and she hated being away from her. She might depend on her a bit more than she would have ever wanted in another partner, but she was completely fine with it now and would always be.

She walked into the show and could surprisingly concentrate on the designs and maybe everything wasn’t horrible, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t counting the hours until she was home in the back of her mind where the memory of Andrea’s smile resided.

 

Paris Fashion Week: Andy

 

 Andy had almost made it. She’d almost made it through the entirety of all the Fashion Weeks without crying. She’d had some close calls, of course, but not a tear had been spilt, not on her behalf. She’d held it together through Miranda leaving, seeing all the articles and photos of her lover online, through the twin’s own despair at their mother’s absence—which had hurt Andy’s heart more than her own longings for Miranda. She’d not shed a single tear, not one.

That winning streak had been cut short in the Eleventh Hour, half way through Pairs Fashion week, by a pillow.

Miranda’s pillow, to be exact.

Andy had contented herself with falling asleep, only as long as she had Miranda’s pillow clutched tightly in her arms as she slept. Being able to hold something, something that smelled deeply of Miranda, had been a great comfort to her these past few weeks.

But now that scent was gone, replaced by Andy’s own and she hated herself for it.

Hot, angry, fat tears rolled down her face, her face felt warm, her nose was running and red, and the skin at the end of it had begun to flake from Andy’s vigorous nose blowing. Her throat ached from the feeling as if a rock was lodged in it, and her stomach hurt, and she was almost certain she would be sick if she didn’t stop crying soon as she sucked in a harsh breath past a body wracking sob.

Stupid. Fucking. Pillow.

She sniffled, and heard the door creak open behind her.

“Andy?”

The voice was quiet, concerned, and Caroline’s, followed shortly after by Cassidy’s.

“Are you alright?”

Andy nodded, her back was to the door where she sat on her side of the bed, Miranda’s pillow in her lap.

“I’m fine girls; I was just getting ready for bed.”

Instead of verbally calling her out on her lie, bare feet padded across wood floors and the twins, clad in soft silk jammies came to sit on either side of Andy on the bed, and leaned their heads against her shoulders.

A loud sob broke past Andy’s clenching teeth, and her hands flung to her mouth to try and block the sound, but there wasn’t much point to it really. The girls knew, and Andy knew they understood.

They let Andy cry for a while, before Cassidy, who sat to Andy’s left, scooted back on the bed, and lifted the covers, snuggling into Miranda’s side of the bed. She patted the spot next to her, bidding Andy take the space in the middle. Andy smiled and slid under the covers and lay next to the girl, Caroline followed suit, taking up the space to Andy’s right, both the twins snuggling up to Andy, each taking one of Andy’s hands, and then using their free arm to lay across Andy’s waist, semi-hugging her until they all fell asleep.

Andy smiled as her final tears slipped slowly down her cheeks, and she held tight to the two pieces of Miranda the older woman had left behind.

 

Coming home:

When Miranda had boarded the plane home, she had been positively giddy, not that her staff had known it. She had driven them as she normally did, working them even after a three week whirlwind tour of the fashion hubs of the world. But they didn’t know that she was taking a long weekend after they got back and wanted as much lead as she could on all the work that must be done now that fashion week was over. Neither did Andrea or the twins for that matter, but they would know soon enough. She was thankful that Andrea hardly ever used her vacation time and could really work from anywhere if need be. Not that Miranda really wanted her to work during this vacation, but she understood.

When the plane had finally landed at JFK eight hours later she was positively ecstatic. If it weren’t for the gifts that she had stashed away in her luggage she would have just left it for some Runway minion to collect and bring back to the office with them. She would’ve found it amusing to see the look on their face certainly, and it would have allowed her to leave just a few minutes earlier. She was so close to Andrea now that she could taste it, taste her on her lips. She licked them in anticipation as she waited at the baggage claim for the imbeciles unloading the plane to get their act together. Honestly, how long did it take to carry a few bags off a plane? Didn’t they know that she had much better things to be doing than standing there waiting on their glacial pace?

When the conveyor belt started moving and bags started to come out of the little hole in the center of the belt Miranda almost jumped for joy, but she really didn’t want her employees to faint dead on the spot. They had work to do, after all, while she was gone. Miranda was thankful that her bags were some of the first out. She grabbed them both and glared at her staff.

“Tomorrow, eleven a.m. be ready to work. Your performance that last few weeks hasn’t been abysmal. That’s all.”

And with that she swept out of the airport where Roy was waiting for her, the car parked where it always was when she returned from business trips. Roy bustled out to meet her and took her bags. Miranda felt as if she was about to crawl out of her skin as she slid into the back seat. The anticipation was killing her now that only a few miles of traffic clogged road stood between her and her love. Roy, however, seemed to realize she was in a hurry and in no time flat they were cruising away from the airport in silence. She really had to see that the man got a bonus for all his hard work for her and always knowing what she wanted, at least when it came to driving.

Miranda tried not to squirm in her seat as the streets flashed past. She knew that Roy was driving as fast as he could given the traffic conditions, but she wanted to be there now. Shame they hadn’t perfected teleportation yet, she could’ve used it right then. But she sat and put up with the slow pace of the car, watching the minutes tick past inching towards nine o’clock. Andrea would be home curled up in the study. The girls would be up in their rooms either finishing up homework they had put off or playing video games, or reading, or a million other things that teenagers did. She tried to keep abreast of their interests but sometimes they changed so quickly Miranda found herself at a loss. She was glad Andrea had a handle on it constantly when she failed.

She sat forward as they entered Manhattan. She watched the street numbers count up slowly. Her hands clenched into fists. She unclenched them slightly when her nails dug into her palms. She wouldn’t injure herself because she was that anxious. That would be a completely foolish move. Andrea wouldn’t be happy with her, and frankly she wouldn’t be happy with herself. She wanted to be have her hands perfectly functional for later. Miranda licked her lips again at the images of what she could do to Andrea tonight after three weeks of nothing. She wanted anything and everything.

They were finally in the sixties street number wise. Roy weaved in and out of traffic like the pro he was. She wondered how the girls would like their gifts from this round of fashion weeks. Cassidy now had a new art set that was the finest Paris could offer and a fashionable tote big enough to carry it around. Caroline had several different books all in different languages and a new book bag. There was a pile of clothing that would arrive in the next two days that the two of them could sort through and divvy up as they wanted as well, but the gifts she had now would be the ones they really wanted. Their passions at the moment were very easy to buy things for at least.

70th street. She sat up straighter and kept from tapping her heeled foot. 71st street. She felt a smile forming on her face. 72nd street. She turned and prepared to exit the car as soon as it was stopped in front of the town house. They inched down the blocks a little faster now that they were in a mostly residential area. Miranda saw the block that the townhouse was on come into view. She felt her breathing pick up just slightly. Her heart beat out the rhythm of I’m home, I’m home, I’m home. She pulled her keys from her purse and separated her home key from everything else.

Roy pulled up to the curb and Miranda was out of the car. She had her key in the front door in a second and was opening it a second afterward. Roy would leave her luggage by the front door and then show himself out unobtrusively as always, not disturbing their reunion. She really had to reward the man for being such a good employee.

And then the door was open and she was stepping through, the anxiety fading from her system as she saw what was waiting for her.

“Andrea,” she whispered.

 

Miranda’s Home:

“Andrea.”

Andy had been lighting the very last of the round, cream colored candles when the door swung open, she immediately put the lighter down, prayed to ever god—real, fictional, or otherwise—that she still looked as fantastic as she had in the mirror just a few minutes ago, and that the tall black heels she’d fearfully shoved her feet into earlier would not twist beneath her and make her fall as she turned around.

Miranda was standing in the doorway, live and in glorious flesh, and she looked as if she were trying to pick her jaw up off of the floor.

Well, as much as Miranda Priestly could possibly look like that—as it was, her mouth was parted a bit and she was staring at Andy as if she were the only person in the world.

“What is…” Miranda gestured to their foyer.

Andy blushed and immediately felt stupid, embarrassed. Insecure, was the core of those feelings, as she looked around at her and the twin’s handiwork.

The entire house was filled with candles setting on all the tables that lined their halls, and from the ceiling, there hung white Christmas lights. The house lights were off, and it created the illusion as if they were alone in an endless night.

At least, that was what Andy had been going for as she silently prayed that the fire alarms did not go off.

“The twin’s idea. They decided to spend the night at Cindy’s house, something about her TV not being as crappy as they thought,” Andy explained, nervously. She licked her lips. “I would have OK’d it with you…but that would have given the game away, you see.”

Miranda’s eyes trailed up and down Andy’s body.

“Oh yes, Andrea. I do see,” the older woman spoke very softly.

Andy had spent all day yesterday in the Closet, picking out the perfect outfit for Miranda’s welcome home.

She’d decided on a black number, with a plunging neckline that stopped just above her navel, which revealed to Miranda the fact that Andy was very much bra-less underneath. The hem fell just a few inches shy of her knees, and in the back, the fabric crisscrossed to meet the top of the dress’s skirt at tail-bone level, leaving a large portion of her back bare. All in all, it seemed to have the desired effect on Miranda, as the older woman stared her younger counterpart down, her expression the very definition of hunger.

“Welcome home,” Andy offered with a shrug and a smiled.

The front door swung shut and Miranda’s heels steadily clicked against the hardwood floors like the second-hand on the clock, _click, click, click, click, click_ , until she stood before Andrea, taking the brunette’s hands into her own.

“Andrea, while I appreciate the beautiful decorations, the girls are out for the evening, and we have not seen each other properly, in well over a month,” Miranda leaned in closer, “and now that I have seen you properly, I wish to see you _im_ properly.”

Andy grinned, and leaned forward to breathe a whisper of words against Miranda’s ear, “Then it’s a good thing that my underwear matches my bra,” before pulling back and meeting Miranda’s gaze.

Miranda took Andy then, into her arms, and pressed her lips to her younger soul mate’s. Kissing Miranda again, after the long weeks of Fashion-Month, was like water to a dying woman. And Andy drank her, as if she would gladly drown. As they ascended the stairs, pieces of clothing flying, Andy knew that she would wait for this woman forever if she had to, she just hoped she didn’t have to. The look in Miranda’s eyes as they finally hit their bed told her that wouldn’t ever be a problem.

She drew Miranda down to kiss her hard enough to make them both forget they’d spent any time apart.

 


End file.
